


La Lengue del Amor

by cannibalsmut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Implied Soldier: 76/Reaper, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7234936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalsmut/pseuds/cannibalsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His Spanish isn't great. But it'll have to do, if Jack can feel something. Anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Lengue del Amor

**Author's Note:**

> haaaaahahaha I didn't plan on writing this but thanks to [this tumblr post](http://milkcree.tumblr.com/post/146013422620/soldier-76-makes-mccree-talk-in-spanish-fuck-him) I caught a bad case of The Feelings, so here's a drabble. enjoy.

            _"¿Quieres esto? Sí?_ "

            His Spanish isn't great. Jack ignores it, instead focusing on the thick bluntness less than comfortably easing its way into his hole. "Nnnh..."

            " _Mm? No te quieres esto?_ "

            Jack buries his face into his pillow and bites down on it. He can't bring himself to reply. It's not the same. It's not the same. It's not the same. Even as the pain from the intrusion dulls, even as it starts rubbing against his prostate, even as he can feel his own cock spring back to life between his legs, it's not the same.

            Jesse's halfhearted about it, as it were. He knows why Jack called. He knows why Jack wanted it doggy style, knows why Jack all but begged him to speak Spanish once the clothes came off, but while neither man is willing to admit it, they're both trying to fill some void in their lives.

            For McCree, it fills the need to get laid once in a while. But for Jack...

            He buries himself deep inside Jack, leans in and starts whispering low, deep growls into Jack's ear. He does his best to match the voice he knew from way back when, but it's only an imitation at best. Jack endures it, grunting through the girth that's pushed its way into his body.

            The voice may not be right, but McCree's size does wonders for Jack. It's not the same. It's bigger. Slightly too big. But it's a similar enough feeling that Jack's able to block the difference from his mind, at least long enough to bellow out a muffled, "Fuck!" into the pillow as McCree starts to move. The not quite pain and not quite pleasure is enough that eventually Jack has to reach down to start stroking himself, because if he doesn't it wouldn't be right. It doesn't feel right.

            It's not the same.

            It doesn't last long. When Jack shudders around McCree and clumsily shoots all over the bedsheets, he can feel a strangled noise escape his mouth. He's not sure if it's a grunt or a scream, or if it's anything in between those two extremes, but the continued stimulation of his prostate as he rides through his orgasm is enough to drain him of the energy to think about it.

            McCree finishes inside him, as though there was never any debate about whether or not he should. He gives his own afterglow a few seconds, then unceremoniously pulls out completely in one motion, leaving Jack feeling drained and empty, as though something were missing that once belonged there.

            Fitting.

            It doesn't take long from there for McCree to pull up his pants—Jack numbly realizes in that moment that McCree never took his pants entirely off to begin with, the bastard—then buckle his belt, pull a cigar out of his pocket, and light it. The smoke gets to Jack instantly, and he's almost ready to roll over and tell McCree to put it out or take it outside, but before he can get a word in, McCree pulls it away from his mouth and speaks.

            "Y'know, I thought this would be like a favor-type deal, I scratch your back, you scratch mine." The expression on McCree's face is unreadable. He won't break eye contact with Jack, but his face is stoic. "But if you're gonna call me over here to have me fuck you until you cum all over the sheets, you could at least have the decency to call out the right name when I do it."

            In that instant, Jack realizes what the noise he made really was.

            "I get you miss him, Jack. Don't I know how it feels. But come on, man. Makin' me speak Spanish and nail you doggy-style just so you can cry out 'Gabe' when you get there? I deserve better than that an' you know it."

            McCree leaves soon after. Jack doesn't say anything in response to him, doesn't watch him go, doesn't do anything, really. He stares at the wall across from him, still lying in the mess he'd made on the sheets, feeling drained and empty, as though something were missing that once belonged there.

            Fitting.


End file.
